by Aubrey Flegg
‘Fenton! I find that hard to believe. “Spy” is a strong word, Sinéad. What’s your proof?’
‘Did you ask Dr Fenton to help you sort out the papers in your room?’
‘No!’ A look of thunder gathered on the Earl’s face. ‘By God, no!’ His hand flew to his breast pocket from which he drew out a sheaf of papers, neatly folded. ‘Never say that I am not careful, Sinéad. They’re all here – my plans are safe!’ He expelled a blast of air. ‘So, Henry Fenton’s our rotten apple. As your father’s secretary he must have known that I was coming here. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s managed to get word out to Chichester. We may have visitors. I must get ready to leave. This is the story of my life now,’ he said angrily. He thumped the battlements with his fist. ‘Damn young Con! Why does he have to go missing today of all days?’ He saw consternation on Sinéad’s face. ‘Don’t mistake me. I love that boy like no other, but just now I could wring his neck.’
Sinéad looked out over the battlements and stiffened. ‘Perhaps you will be able to, Uncle.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look there! Nobody here can ride like that. Here he comes!’
And there, indeed, came Con, lying low along his pony’s back, his legs thrashing at Macha’s sides like small wings. From up there, pony and boy looked like a bird sweeping low across the ground towards them.
‘Come on, Con!’ roared Hugh, thumping Sinéad on the back. ‘Come on!’
She looked up at Uncle Hugh and laughed; he was a different man already. Gone was the elderly stoop as he urged his son on. ‘I smell trouble, Sinéad, and I’d better get down and see what that young rascal has to say for himself. He may be a little divil, but it strikes me that it could well be that the real devil is after him. We’ll elope some other time, my dear.’ And with that he was off down the steps with the speed and agility of a goat.
Sinéad ran down so fast after him that her skirts filled with air and she felt as light as thistledown, but she missed her footing at the bottom and completed the last four steps on her behind. But she was on her feet in a second and out the door just in time to see young Con ride up to the foot of the ramp below the door where his father was waiting.
‘Con O’Neill, where the hell have you been? Come down off that pony while I skelp you!’ Two brawny arms reached up for the lad, who pitched himself readily enough into them. What followed was more of a hug than a skelping, though it was followed by a sharp smack on the backside as Hugh put the lad down. Sinéad joined them; she couldn’t wait to meet Con.
‘Father! Chichester’s coming!’ Con said, panting.
‘I thought you had a devil after you. D’you hear that, Sinéad? That’s how to give a message, no beating about the bush.’ He turned to Con. ‘So, how long do we have? Are they hot on your heels?’
Con shook his head. ‘No, sir. I took a short cut over the hill. I got lost. But they’re on foot, mostly. Maybe an hour if they wait for the foot soldiers.’
‘How many horsemen, son?’
‘Six, sir. And Sir Chichester, of course.’
‘They won’t ride ahead, not with just six; they’ll stay with the foot soldiers. Did you count how many on foot?’
‘I tried. I think there were about seventy in all. Musket men–’
But Hugh interrupted. ‘Details will do later, son. Well done!’ He turned to Sinéad. ‘Hear that, Sinéad? Con says Chichester is coming. We must leave immediately. Go tell your father.’
‘But can’t you stay? We can protect you, surely.’
‘No arguing! All I’ve got to lose is my head, but your father has his lands and his castle, not to mention you and his family to think of. The sooner I’m out of here the better. Just go, and go quickly, but take the boy and see that he gets a bite to eat.’
Having found Father and given him her message, she took Con out to the kitchens and fed him till she thought he would burst. It was a spluttery affair, as his need to tell his story was about as urgent as his need to eat. He had her alternately on the edge of her seat, and then laughing out loud. No doubt, he would tell the story many times in the future, but this was his first opportunity and he made the most of it. She was intrigued by the man who had helped him. Who was this ‘Haystacks’ who spoke like a poet and just seemed to spring up out of the ground?
As they came out of the kitchen she remembered that she had still not located James. On a previous visit, Uncle Hugh had taught her how to wolf-whistle. If nothing else would carry to James over the present preparations, a wolf-whistle would. She gave a long, sharp, ear-splitting blast.
When she looked down, she found Con gazing at her in open-mouthed awe. His voice was almost a whisper: ‘Oh do show me how to do that!’
So she did.
CHAPTER 8
Preparing for the Enemy
t was as if a hurricane had hit the castle. Father was up, washed, dressed, and giving orders. The broken old soldier sitting hunched over his stick was gone; now he stood and pointed with the stick, like a general in the field. Servants were moving the screens that concealed his retreat at the end of the great hall. Dr Fenton was working furiously, putting papers into chests, while Father questioned Uncle Hugh about his plans. Sinéad hovered in the background, wanting to be in on it all.
‘The kitchens will have food for your party ready in a quarter of an hour, Hugh,’ said Father. ‘How many are you?’
‘We’ll be six. On horses will be myself, Con, and, if you will release him, Fion; the rest on foot.’
‘Must you take Fion? He’s a great favourite here and James’ll miss him.’
Sinéad glanced at Uncle Hugh. Would he mention the duel? ‘Yes, and I’m sure he’ll miss James in turn. But one of Chichester’s favourite ploys is to take hostages, and after seeing young Red Hugh when he’d escaped from Dublin Castle, I won’t give Chichester the pleasure taking any nephew of mine as a hostage, if I can prevent it.’
‘How on earth did Chichester come to know you were here?’
‘Oh, I’ve learned long ago that even stones have ears.’
Sinéad didn’t turn to where Dr Fenton was working, but she listened. The hasty packing of documents had stopped … now it started again. She looked at Uncle Hugh, who glanced in her direction – was that the shade of a wink? Obviously, he couldn’t talk to Father while Fenton was listening. Uncle Hugh went on: ‘I haven’t seen Fion to tell him we’re going; perhaps Sinéad knows where he is?’
‘I’ll go and find him,’ she said, and slipped quickly out of the room. As she left, she heard Father say: ‘I’ve decided to greet Chichester as a guest. He’s as prickly as a hedgehog and I don’t want to give him any cause to try to turn us off our lands. He’s not forgiven my friendship with you despite our pardon; I want to show that I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Apart from me, my old friend. I must indeed be gone!’
As Sinéad ran to the falconry, she realised that the flurry of activity had spread out here too. The armourer had his furnace glowing white, as men queued for hurried repairs to metal buckles, to pike shafts, to sword hilts. A boy was turning a great circular grind-stone, as soldiers lined up to sharpen their pikes and swords; fountains of sparks burst from the spinning stone.
‘Hey! … Fion?’ she called from among the bird perches, eyeing the ceiling above. ‘It’s me … Sinéad. Can I come up?’
Fion’s voice came from above. ‘Is James around? And what in heaven’s name is happening?’
‘I don’t know where James is,’ she called. ‘He’s disappeared. But Chichester’s about to arrive with a whole army.’
‘Holy smoke! So they got word out to him!’ There was a scuffle of movement above, and dust and fragments rained down. Sinéad backed away as Fion emerged from the loft and dropped to the ground.
‘It’s not “they”, Fion, I’m sure of it now, but we were right about Fenton. I found him poking in Uncle Hugh’s papers pretending he was sorting them. You ought to have seen Uncle Hugh’s face when I to
ld him.’
‘Mark my words, they’re in it together. Why was James needling me all morning, going on at me, provoking me to fight that stupid duel? Of course he knew! I’d be a nice mouse to lay at Chichester’s feet, neatly skewered. I bet you anything you like that James is out there now showing Chichester the way. Just think of the reward: “Hugh O’Neill dead or alive – £50”. That’s the rumour.’
‘Oh shut up, Fion,’ she snapped. ‘It’s nothing to do with James. He would never betray a guest under his own roof, let alone betray him for gold!’
‘Humph. So how do we know the Lord Deputy’s coming?’
‘Con’s back. He was captured by them, but escaped and found a way through the plashing to warn us. You’re leaving now with Uncle Hugh … and you’re wrong about James, I’m sure of it.’ But where is he? she worried.
Fion cocked his head at the clanging from the armoury. ‘So are you getting ready to fight the English, then?’
‘No. Father’s planning to greet Sir Chichester as a guest. With Uncle Hugh gone, you see, we’ll have nothing to hide.’
‘So I’m to go too? I’d like to have seen the old terror for myself!’
‘No, you must go. Uncle Hugh says Chichester will be looking for hostages.’
‘Perhaps he’ll take brother James, then!’ he said snidely.
Sinéad winced.
Fion climbed up into his loft and appeared a minute or two later with two saddlebags, which he lowered down to her.
Twenty minutes later Uncle Hugh’s small party of six set off into the woods behind the castle. Farewells had been brief. Con pleaded to be allowed to stay for the battle.
‘Thanks to you, Con, there won’t be a battle,’ laughed Uncle Hugh.
Sinéad was there to wave them off. As Fion passed, he bent down. ‘I’m sorry it’s ending like this, Sinéad. I have no quarrel with you.’ He touched his pony’s flanks, and was gone.
Sinéad’s hand dropped to her side. She felt a void open in her life.
Sinéad had little interest in the frenetic activity in the castle. If they weren’t preparing for war, what was all the fuss about? She was sad at the departure of Uncle Hugh, and at the way Fion had said goodbye as if he would never see her again. When she was hauled away by her mother to get dressed, it seemed like treachery to put on Uncle Hugh’s beautiful dress to greet his worst enemy.
‘But Mother, Con says he’s like the devil himself …’ but the rest of her sentence was lost as her Mother, aided by Kathleen, lowered Uncle Hugh’s fabulous dress over her head. She emerged pink and furious. ‘I should be wearing armour, not this … this meringue!’
Mother seemed to be about to give her a slap, but then changed her mind. Sounding as if she was addressing a five-year-old, she explained: ‘Now listen, Sinéad. We have just learned that the Lord Deputy of Ireland, Sir Arthur Chichester, is about to make a courtesy call on the King of England’s loyal subject, Sir Malachy de Cashel–’
‘Why are you talking like that? If you mean Father, say Father, and you know perfectly well he’s not loyal to that old goat, the king – ouch!’ She received a stinging slap on the leg.
‘Sinéad, will you stop being foolish! This may seem like a game, but one wrong word and you could ruin everything. Listen now: Father is loyal! He was pardoned by the King, just like Uncle Hugh, after the battle of Kinsale, and neither of them has taken up arms against King James since then.’
‘Then why is Uncle Hugh on the run?’ said Sinéad, sullenly.
‘Because Chichester hates him, and wants to send him to England where the King will either behead him or lock him up in the Tower of London. By entertaining Sir Arthur and his troops, we are giving Uncle Hugh time to escape. We will also be showing our loyalty to the Crown so that Chichester will have no reason to confiscate our lands and give them to some English planter. Be polite to them, show respect and the manners that Dr Fenton has taught you.’
The thought of Uncle Hugh – her Uncle Hugh – being beheaded finally sobered Sinéad. Tears pricked in her eyes. ‘So, what do we say about Uncle Hugh, and Con?’
‘If anyone asks you about either of them, just look stupid, like you were just now!’
Sinéad, feeling sad and a little ashamed, made a face. Mother gave her a kiss. ‘There’s no need for Chichester to know anything about our visitors, my dear.’ Sinéad nodded, but then suddenly sat up, alert. This was nonsense! Chichester would be told everything as soon as he was in the door.
‘But Fenton, Mother!’
‘What do you mean, “Fenton?” You mustn’t speak about him like that; have some respect, girl. He’s Dr Fenton!’
In that instant Sinéad realised that Mother didn’t know about him. Holy smoke, does that mean that Father doesn’t know either? What if Uncle Hugh hasn’t had time to tell him? It had all been so rushed.
‘Let me go, Mother! I must speak to Father!’ She ran for the door.
‘Stop, child! You’re open down the back!’ Kathleen grabbed her, and Sinéad stood trembling with impatience as the maid struggled with the line of tiny buttons and loops down her spine. Oh get on, Kathleen! she thought.
When she burst into the great hall she found a queue of people waiting for Father’s instructions. Fenton was there, hovering around him like an over-willing spaniel. How could she find out if Father knew that Fenton was a spy without blurting it out in front of the scoundrel?
At that moment, Father caught sight of her, waiting. He looked surprised. ‘My word, child, you are dressed up. Are you looking for me?’
She’d forgotten about the dress. His surprise threw her for a moment, and now Fenton’s protruding eyes were fixed on her. Would Uncle Hugh have mentioned apples, rotten apples perhaps? It was worth a try.
‘Father, did … did Uncle Hugh tell you what we found in the apples? He said it might be important.’ She watched her father’s face … a moment of puzzlement, then it cleared.
‘He did tell me, love. I’m going to deal with it later. It’s codling-moth, you know.’
She nearly danced with excitement. He’s got it, he’s got it!
But the victualler was patting her on the head. ‘This is not the moment to bother your father with moths, dear! Run along, now!’
She stepped back into the shadows, happy that Father knew. She listened to his crisp orders – no wonder Uncle Hugh had wanted Father beside him at Kinsale. Now he was detailing exactly how many horsemen and men-at-arms were to make up the party that would go out to greet the Lord Deputy. Next he turned to the chief herdsman. All but a small herd of cattle were to be moved out of sight into the woods; however, a fat bullock was to be slaughtered straight away and pit-roasted for the common soldiers. ‘Yes, yes,’ he instructed, ‘all that’s necessary for seventy men.’
‘So we know their number, Milord?’ asked the victualler, who had re-joined the line.
‘Yes, thanks to our informant, we even know the colour of their eyes,’ joked Father. ‘A good spy is worth a thousand men, eh Fenton?’ His secretary smiled weakly. Father’s instructions flowed on: ‘We will be entertaining the Deputy and six gentlemen. The high table will be me and six members of the household, including Dr Fenton here.’
At that moment Sinéad felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a whisper in her ear. ‘For God’s sake, Sinéad, what’s going on?’
She turned in surprise. It was James, smudged and covered in cobwebs. She grabbed him by the elbow and hurried him out of the hurly burly of the castle to an angle of the wall where they could talk privately.
‘Well, James, you tell me what it’s all about!’ she demanded.
‘I’ve no idea; I was … far away and didn’t hear anything till now.’
‘Rot! You’d have had to be in France to miss the commotion here! Look at you, you’re covered in cobwebs!’ She brushed at him, but he slapped her hand away.
‘I have a hiding place … a deep place … I didn’t hear anything,’ he said sullenly.
Sinéad was still sus
picious of his involvement. ‘Chichester’s coming here to catch Uncle Hugh,’ she informed her brother. ‘We thought you might be with him.’
‘Me! With Uncle Hugh? No way!’
‘No, you oaf. With Chichester, the Lord Deputy. We thought you’d gone over to the other side.’
‘We …who’s we? Fion, I bet! Well, of all the bloody cheek! Anyway, how could Chichester know that Uncle Hugh’s here?’
‘Because someone told him!’
‘You mean a spy?’
‘Yes, we thought …’ Just then a bellow rang out from the castle door above them: ‘Master James to Sir Malachy immediately!’
James sprang to his feet but Sinéad caught him and held on. ‘You can’t go in like that, covered in cobwebs!’ She began to brush his jacket and pluck strands from his hair. ‘And look, your face is all smudged!’ she said, pulling a kerchief from her sleeve.
‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘I don’t want my face washed in your spit!’
‘Well, use your own spit then!’ she said, holding out the handkerchief. While he scrubbed at his face and hands she told him how the alarm had been given by young Con, and how Uncle Hugh had left, taking Fion with him.
‘Good-riddance! I’ve had enough of Fion and Uncle Hugh, and the native Irish forever.’
Sinéad bit her tongue. He hadn’t known about Chichester, that was the important thing, so he hadn’t been in on Fenton’s plot. ‘Father plans to treat Sir Chichester as a guest. That’s what he’s arranging now.’
‘Good! Dr Fenton says we should treat the English in Ireland as our guests, not our enemies. If we honour them, they will honour us.’ He pushed her away. ‘I must go!’
‘James, there’s something else you must know. It’s about Fenton–’ but he was gone.
